Time was passing. I had to open my eyes. What was done was done. But irrevocable things aren’t easy to look at, even when you’ve chosen them. When at last I did open my eyes, lower my head, and raise my arm, I felt a smile parting the curtain of tears that were already drying on my face—never to fall again! no, never again!

My hand of glory is clever; already it perfectly mimicked my natural hand. It was still long, dry, cold, but the trenches between the bones had filled, and every moment its color was more and more the color of my right hand. Soon it was an even better, more plausible, and more vivid color than my right hand could manage. Once upon a time, the left hand had been reserved for baser tasks. But for me, from now on my right hand would handle the banalities of life. My hand of glory was ascendant now. Now things really would be different. I could have laughed right in Mack’s face when I saw him—really, it was only the power of the hand that gave me the strength to contain myself. Happy New Year! I nearly bayed it in his face, like a mad dog, wild with hilarious vindication after ripping itself free from its chain.